A Lesson in Mythology
by Miss. Poppy May
Summary: A collection of one shots recording moments in the lives of demigods and other characters from the Percy Jackson series.
1. Murder Machine

**I've always felt like authors in general are way too soft when it comes to the lives of demigods. They are not long and lovely, but short and tragic. In order to give a possible true perspective, I've decided to write a series of one shots, tales that stay true to what a demigods life is really like when not under the publication of Disney. Some will be extremely dark, and others will have mature content. Some one shots, like this one, are not for the gentle souls. you have been warned. **

* * *

**Because the drugs never work**

**They gonna give you a smirk**

**'Cause they got methods of keeping you clean**

**They gonna rip off your heads**

**Your inspiration to shreds**

**Another cog in the murder machine**

**~Teenagers; My Chemical Romance**

She's a very cute little girl. She has curly blond hair, big blue eyes, and a cherubic face. At least, she does today. Tomorrow it might change. Or, if she gets bored, anytime before. He feels horrible not knowing what his daughter looks like, but it's not really his fault. For some reason, she's constantly changing, as if she can't help but try to be the cutest little girl in her environment. But her looks are the least of his problems. ADHD, dyslexia, and possibly schizophrenia are the real ones. He could deal with the ADHD, she was medicated, after all. Even the dyslexia was fine, he could pay for her to go to a special school and get help. He started suspecting something when he saw her talking to a tree, not for the first time either, or all those times that he found her taking to bodies of water. The final straw was that she had recently attacked and innocent old man when he took her to the Swan Boats, claiming that he had tried to eat her. She had claimed this before, but that day was the first time she had a violent reaction. He talked to experts about it and her physiatrist, Dr. Thorn, who shed the most light on the situation.

Dr. Thorn was a lifesaver, in his opinion. He was the one who had diagnosed Lottie with ADHD and put her on medication. He was always available and seemed to know everything. That's why, when he asked Dr. Thorn for his diagnosis and Dr. Thorn had suggested schizophrenia, he believed him. Before he started to panic though, Dr. Thorn had told him to send Lottie in and, after running a few tests, he would know for sure and would be able to try and help Lottie to the best of his ability. With Dr. Thorn doing everything he could for his little girl, Ken couldn't help but feel safe, like nothing bad could plague his little family.

He didn't know how wrong he was.

* * *

Lottie never liked Dr. Thorn. She didn't like his office, she didn't like the weird things her gave her dad in that bottle that looked liked candies, but most certainly didn't taste like them that she always had to take and she didn't like his eyes. Overall, he was a very scary man and whenever she was around him, she wanted to run, but she could never act on the impulse for some reason. That's why, when he dad was driving her to go see him, she wasn't happy.

"Sweetie, aren't you excited to see Dr. Thorn?" He father cooed, looking at her through the rearview mirror. She shook her head and pouted.

"Daddy, I don't want to go and see him! He makes me sit in that yucky chair and just sits there and writes on that stupid thing of his!" He wasn't concerned or moved by her whining. In fact, and just smiled at her, eyes twinkling.

"You mean his clipboard? Honey, he uses that to take notes to make you feel better. And I'm sure the chair isn't that bad," he chuckled, pulling into the parking lot. He climbed out to unbuckle her car seat and walk her into the building.

"I never feel better! I think he makes me feel worse," Lottie whimpered, trying to stick her feet to the ground so that her father couldn't bring her in. She wasn't strong enough though, and he just dragged her towards the building, scuffing her new, shiny black Mary Janes. Her father looked down at her, scowling, clearly done with her behavior.

"You're seeing Dr. Thorn, and that is that young lady," he said sternly, dragging her inside despite her protests.

When they got into the lobby, Dr. Thorn was already waiting for them. Just looking at him made Lottie shiver, despite the warm air. Dr. Thorn was very tall with a face that reminded her of a bird. He had short grey hair and no hair on his face, unlike his receptionist who had a mustache like her dad. Whenever he spoke in his funny accent, his nostrils flared so Lottie was always stuck looking up his nose. Though that was better than looking at his eyes, which were two different colors, brown and blue, like that cat she rescued from the alley by her penthouse. Today, Dr. Thorn was wearing a black suit with red trim, and Lottie wanted to tell him that they really weren't his colors and that the style was all wrong for him, but she was too scared to. When he saw them, he smiled, his teeth sharp and gleaming.

"Ah, Mr. Harris! And little Lottie!" He said in what was supposed to be an affectionate tone and reach down to ruffle Lottie's hair. She tried to pull away but he grabbed on and ruffled harder than he should have. Lottie winced and hid behind her father's legs.

"Dr. Thorn, it's good to see you! Right Lottie?" Lottie made a noise in the back of her throat and tried to hid herself further. Her father just laughed and pushed her towards Dr. Thorn. "Lottie, sweetie, I'm going to leave you with Dr. Thorn for a little while so that I can run a few errands, okay? I'll be back before your session is over." Lottie's eyes widened in panic.

"No, don't leave me!" She cried, grabbing on to him. He just pulled he off and before she could latch on again, Dr. Thorn took her hand.

"Don't worry, Lottie, your father will be back soon. In the meantime, you and I will be having a little quality time." Before she could protest, Dr. Thorn bid her father goodbye and dragged her down the hallway to the elevator, the iron grip he had or her hand made it apparent that he wasn't planning to let go anytime soon.

* * *

The ride to the elevator was quite, the soft music the only noise other than Dr. Thorn breathing, which was getting raspier and heavier by the second. Finally the elevator dinged, and Dr. Thorn dragged Lottie into his office. He shut the door behind them and Lottie thought she heard a click. Knowing the drill, she started to go sit in the chair, but stopped when she noticed that the windows had bars on them.

"Dr. Thorn why are there…" Lottie turned around to confront him, but trailed off once she saw who, or rather what, was in front of her. Dr. Thorn was still there, or at least his face was, but the rest of him was different. Instead of a normal body, he looked like that animal she had saw at the zoo that one time. What was it called again? Oh yes, a lion. Instead of hands, he had huge orange paws and longs, sharp claws. Something long and black and spiked flicked behind him.

"Greek Half-Blood," he rasped, stepping towards her. "I haven't had one of your kind in so long. You are always the… _sweetest_." And with that, he lunged.

For some reason, Lottie couldn't move fast enough. It was like she having a nightmare, unable to run or escape. She managed to jumped out of the way just barely, getting thrown into one of the bookshelves, ripping her dress on a book end. Dr. Thorn approached her again, going slow like a cat attacking its prey. Lottie took off one of her shoes and whipped it at his face with all the strength her little body could muster, stunning him momentarily. She ran to the door, frantically pulling at the doorknob , resorting to clawing and ripping at it with her fingers, her nails ripping off and leaving tiny prints of blood on the door. Dr. thorn chuckled behind her and she cried out, clawing at the door even harder. Something leathery encircled her ankle and pulled her away from the door, up into the air before throwing her across the room. She hit the wall with a dull thump and a loud crack, sliding down and hitting the ground. She struggled to get up but couldn't. she could feel a tiny trickle of something wet and sticky steadily drip down her face and reached up to feel her head. Her perfect hair was matted with blood. She let out a low cry and tried to crawl away, but sharp spikes pinned her to the ground, on lodging itself in her hair. The room started to shimmer around her and she couldn't move, too weak and dazed. Dr. Thorn kneeled in front of her, his two different eyes sparkling with hungry.

"You put up quite the struggle, maybe I should have given you a higher dosage of Ritalin." His voice sounded far away, Lottie was struggling to breath. Dr. Thorn got even closer, his mouth opening wider. "But that doesn't matter anymore, I have you where need you," he rasped. The last thing Lottie saw before she passed out was Dr. Thorn's teeth, all three rows of them.

* * *

"Dr. Thorn? Mr. Harris is here to pick up his daughter." A soft voice said, knocking on the door. The voice belonged to Ms. Pastor, Dr. Thorn's receptionist. She pushed softly on the door, but it didn't budge. Ms. Pastor frowned, reaching for her master key. "Dr. Thorn?" She called again, unlocking the door. The a slight push, the door opened and she screamed in horror. Blood dripped down on of the walls and pooled on the ground. A chair was knocked over, and books were on the ground, pages torn out and sprinkled with blood. The bars that covered the window had been ripped off and a few tufts of red fur still clung to them. The only sign that Lottie had been in there was a piece of her dress stuck on a book end that fluttered the breeze that drifted in through the window and a lone Mary Jane on the floor.


	2. Grasping to Control

**Sometimes I give myself the creeps**

**Sometimes my mind plays tricks on me**

**It all keeps adding up**

**I think I'm cracking up**

**Am I just paranoid?**

**Am I just stoned?**

**~Basket Case; Green Day**

When you're a human surrounded by demigods, your mental health usually takes a turn for the worst. When I embraced my destiny to be the Oracle, I didn't really have any idea what I was signing up for. Sure, I knew that I was going to be issuing dangerous prophecies for impossible quests and I knew that my life would become erratic and unpredictable. I can't say that I knew that green mist was going to come out of my mouth and that I was going to suffer from fainting spells, but they're nothing. I can handle being the Oracle, it's an easy job. What I can't handle is everything else.

The repercussions of my prophecies. Knowing that I'm sending kids on impossible quests, most of which are necessary for the fate of the world. I hate having to entrust that with a someone my age or younger, someone that has seen and done too much to even remain close to innocent. Sometimes, my prophecies even take away that innocence. Sometimes, the guilt is just too much to bear.

What's even worse, though, is when the campers come back. If their quest is successful, they're revered as champions. At first, I used to be so pleased when I saw campers being praised by their peers, being crowned with laurel leaves and carried around on the shoulders of others as they scream their approval. I used to love hearing them talk about their quest, their voices dripping with arrogance and excitement. But after awhile, I saw through all the facades. Sure, the camper is revered as a god for awhile, but the praise their given isn't innocent. Their siblings, though happy for them, look at them bitterly, upset that they weren't able to go on that quest, to win their parent's favor. The other campers all have this smug look beneath their happy ones, knowing that soon the victor will mess up and the quest will be forgotten, hidden underneath their sins. The laurel leaves, the crown of a victor, don't highlight the features of a hero, but the face of someone as vain and cold as the gods themselves. The arrogance and excitement hides the fear they felt the whole time, false bravado concealing the tears, fatal mistakes and near death situations. Now, when campers come back, I hid in my cave, blocking out the lies by blaring music and paintings. That is, if they come back.

And sometimes, they don't. Either weeks go by and Chiron has to order that the shrouds get burned and that the funeral arrangements be made or someone brings the news, a nymph or a god, usually. Either way, camp is somber for a few days, the campers training even harder, as if it they were preparing for war, trying to make up for the deaths of their friends. Their siblings mourn for weeks and their parents field of expertise usually suffers a bit. Nothing worse than death on a quest, whether no one comes back or only part of the group does. But death isn't what demigods fear when given a quest. What they fear is failure.

A demigod would rather die than fail a quest, to bring shame on themselves, their friends, their siblings, and even worse, their parent. If someone fails and actually returns instead of exiling themselves out of shame, campers give them a wide berth, as though their failure is a disease. The camper who failed is usually either depressed or angry, both are horrible. The depressed ones try and come to me for answers, the angry try and kill me. I'm not sure which one I prefer, lying to soothe a broken soul or trying to stay alive.

Being the oracle is hard. Knowing that I've killed people, that I've taken away innocence or friends through my words weighs more on my soul than it would if I had caused them pain and suffering deliberately. I can't stand the accusing looks, the pleads, the madness. What's even worse is that I'm as much of a bystander as they are, stuck watching the spirit of Delphi wreak destruction trying to bring order and balance to the world, using demigods as her pawn. Only unlike them, I'm forced to help her, the victim and the villain.


End file.
